`Sprung!' cried Jeff Basin, the local dubbo. 'Oh, der,' moaned Boardie sarcastically.
We'll hauld our court mid the roaring lins, And daff in the lashan' tide
“... I tell you men, them's Crinkum-crankum whales.” ¶ “And what is them?” said a sailor. ¶ “Why, them is whales that can't be cotched.”
Prof. Jain would mix all his food into one glob at lunch so as to be more yogically detached from pleasure but I couldn't get to that point.
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